Our Columnist |

I am Madame Boissevin, and I belong to NORDEN Magazine, whether there’s a plus sign in the title or not. I had already designed a lovely pattern for a leather mask, especially for this issue. This could easily become the Knipmode for leather enthusiasts. I’m originally a seamstress, and I still have an old Singer hand-crank sewing machine that can handle anything. It sews through the thickest leather without hesitation—almost as if the customer were still in it, so to speak.

You can imagine my outrage when I received a very casual WhatsApp message from Mister T. telling me there really isn’t room for a woman in this issue. If he had said that to my face, I would have taken my massive textile scissors—the ones I once “borrowed” from Frans Molenaar’s studio—and snipped that little tuft of hair right off his head in one swift motion. There wouldn’t have been much left of him after that.

What a domineering little man—no women allowed? Pfft. I immediately flung open all my drawers and dug out an old perforated passport that still had an M for my gender—something I had officially changed years ago. I admit it hurt, but I won’t let myself be shoved off the platform by some cheerful train conductor, metaphorically speaking.

At first, I thought he was such a nice man, patiently explaining to me what BLUF stands for. I only knew the term from literature—bottom line up front, though I can’t even recall what it actually meant. It’s been a long time since I studied Dutch for two months, back when computers were fed with pallets of punch cards. That detail probably gives away my age, which is terribly improper for a lady, I know—but I’m quite upset at the moment.